


Conferences: Medical and Otherwise

by Lycaste



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bickering, Blackmail, Gen, help my new boss is a jerk, stolen medical equipment, trying to fit in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9148690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycaste/pseuds/Lycaste
Summary: When Ambulon meets his new boss at a medical conference on Kimia space station, he doesn’t expect the two of them to become partners in crime. Now the Autobot’s newest doctor must take a hard look at morality, obligation, and why Pharma would have made a great Decepticon.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for a zine that didn't make it in. I'd forgotten about this one until recently, and thought I'd post it here.

Ambulon’s outstretched hand continued to linger like an unwanted guest.

At this point, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Should he persist in the face of mounting awkwardness and keep it extended? Or should he drop it back to his side and pretend like the entire attempt at shaking hands never happened? If he did that, should there be a transition? A fake cough or a brush of his fingers to his neck?

Scratch that. Brushing something against his frame would cause more paint to flake off, and then his death by humiliation would be complete.

The recipient of the intended handshake, Doctor Pharma, was certainly living up to his glacial reputation. Face stern, he barely acknowledged Ambulon or any of the well wishing doctors surrounding them. He just kept scanning the crowd, as if expecting someone who wasn’t there.

Perhaps it was understandable that Pharma was distracted. After the presentation he’d given on diseases and treatments of the cranial chamber, he was sure to be the star of the Kimia Medical Conference. His speech had been brilliant and highly applicable to field medicine. Most memorably, Pharma’s presentation had been a stunning testament to himself. Ambulon had lost track of how many times the Delphi CMO referenced his own previous research and successful procedures.

When the crowd around them thinned, First Aid tried again. “Doctor Pharma? This is the new guy, Ambulon. I texted you his files.”

Pharma finally deigned to make optic contact. “So this is him? The Decepticon?”

Ambulon’s throat tubing tightened. He dropped his hand to his side. “Officially, sir, I’m an Autobot. I underwent the Act of Affiliation months ago.”

“How convenient,” said Pharma. He read aloud from Ambulon’s files. “MTO. Cooperative during defection process. Failed combiner experiment. High medical aptitude.”

Embarrassment coiled its way around Ambulon’s T-cog and through his fuel lines. He knew his privacy wasn’t anyone’s priority, but Pharma could’ve lowered his voice.

“What did you say your name was again?” asked Pharma, as it wasn’t in the files and First Aid hadn’t already said it twice.

“Ambulon.”

“Right.” Pharma openly scrutinized Ambulon’s frame. “That’s helpful at least. We could use another ambulance on staff.”

Ambulon’s fuel pump rate picked up. Was this some sort of test? Surely Pharma could see his alt mode listed on the forms, along with the visible lack of doors and windows. Did he _want_ to force Ambulon to say he wasn’t an ambulance, or was it an oversight?

“Did you see all his surgery experience?” First Aid’s voice held the same friendly but soft-spoken tone that he’d used all day. “Manual strut readjustments and thoraxal cavity structuring? That could free up a lot of your time.”

Pharma dismissed him with a scoff. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? The oil transfusion presentation is starting soon.”

“You want me to go to that?” asked First Aid. “I was hoping to go to the talk on experimental spark resuscitation procedures.”

A sudden cold front rolled off Pharma, plunging the hallway into a sea of near tangible ice and disapproval. He somehow grew a full head taller, and his wings stretched out to loom above them. “Give it to me.”

“W-what?”

“You know what.” Pharma put out a hand and snapped his fingers. “Give it to me. Or I’ll have you shoveling Delphi’s landing pad every day for the next year.”

First Aid’s visor flashed twice. Sighing, he relinquished a datapad to Pharma. “Please don’t lose this. It’s all my research and theories.”

“And ninety datalogs of _Wreckers: Declassified_.” Pharma’s turbine emitted a low, annoyed whine. “What did I tell you? You’re here to learn something practical, not to indulge in dangerous flights of scientific fancy.”

“My jump-start technique isn’t dangerous!” cried First Aid. “It’s the latest in spark resuscitation technology.”

“It’s the latest in time-wasting buffoonery,” said Pharma. “Go to the oil transfusion lecture. I expect a full report on it when you’re done.”

“Yes, sir,” mumbled First Aid. He stomped past Ambulon and whispered, “Good luck.”

Pharma held out the datapad to Ambulon. The _hold this_ was implied. “So you were part of a combiner?”

Ambulon kept his cringing internal. He took the pad. “Yes.”

“You must be strong.” Pharma stared at him with a strange intensity that bordered on creepy. “What’s the max weight you can carry?” 

“I..” Ambulon stopped. He knew exactly how much it was, when he was part of a group. He wasn’t sure what he could do alone. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Let’s find out,” said Pharma. He pivoted on a large red heel and sauntered away. “Follow me.”

 

*****

 

They walked through the conference wing of the Kimia space station. Normally a weapons research facility, it was currently playing host to the brightest medical minds in the Autobots. As they went, they passed packed lecture halls and doctors murmuring in small groups. Most of them sported some variation of Autobot medic colors, deep red and sparkling white. That same colors that peeled in ugly fragments from Ambulon’s frame.

Around every corner was someone who would congratulate Pharma. He shook so many eager hands, his sensitive surgeon fingers had to be aching by now. A few mechs nodded to Ambulon too, but most looked beyond him like he was invisible.

That was fine. Small talk was just an opportunity to alienate himself further.

When it seemed they’d reached the most forgotten wing of the base, Pharma stopped in front of a set of nondescript gray doors with the words _Storage Bays 113-123_ stenciled above them. He flicked a gaze towards the black security globe wedged into the ceiling, and then punched a code into the keypad on the wall. The doors hissed apart from each other. 

A crisp chemical scent wafted towards them. “Come on,” said Pharma, motioning him forward.

Ambulon trailed him into the storage bay. “What the-“

In front of him was more high-tech medical equipment than he’d ever seen in one place. Scanners of all types overflowed from the shelves. Portable CR chambers crowded the room, leaving only a slender path for walking. Tubes of assorted sizes, shapes, and materials lay coiled on every available surface. Amidst it all, Ambulon counted not one, but _four_ ultrasonic neural circuitry imagers.

There were enough instruments present to outfit ten Decepticon diagnostic stations. And from where he was standing, he could see that the room connected to another room full of supplies, and another after that. 

Ambulon reset his optical filters, trying to comprehend the medical Cyberutopia. “I don’t believe it.”

“I know,” groaned Pharma. “It’s a disaster in here. And filthy. If I ran this place, you’d better believe it would have some structure.”

“What is all this?” asked Ambulon.

Pharma rubbed at a scuff on one of the CR chambers. “Makeshift medical depot. High Command ordered a big push on parts and equipment, so it was all quietly dumped here before they divvy it up amongst various facilities. And until Prowl and the accountants show up tomorrow to take an official inventory, it remains the organizational catastrophe that you see before you.”

An unsteady apprehension bloomed in Ambulon’s spark. He glanced sideways at Pharma. “So nobody knows exactly what’s in here?”

“What? No! They know.” Pharma picked up a bunch of propex swabs and passed them to Ambulon. “They just don’t _know_ know.”

Ambulon took the swabs. “So we’re here to…?”

“To borrow a few things,” finished Pharma. “But I’m not seeing what we need in this room.”

Pharma led them through the abundant storage rooms, heaping a myriad of things onto Ambulon as they went. Loops of medical-grade transplant tubing. Three different types of neurex saturate. He practically swooned over a stash of low-temperature fuel initiators, stacking them all onto Ambulon in a swaying pile.

Entering the fifth room, Pharma’s engine revved loudly. “Here we go.” He pushed MARBs and circuit slabs out of the way, creating a narrow opening towards a rectangular white machine on wheels. The top housed an electronic display, and the bottom held two tanks connected by clusters of wires and pipes. “Ta-dah! Here it is.” 

Ambulon stared at him. “Okay.”

“You don’t seem impressed,” said Pharma.

“You don’t seem like the type of mech who says ta-dah,” said Ambulon.

“A little showmechship never hurts,” sniffed Pharma. “You’re stalling. You really don’t know? Primus, what do they teach you Decepticons?”

Ambulon bristled and clenched tighter around the pillar of wobbling equipment. “I’m an Autobot now.”

“It’s a nucleon filtration system,” said Pharma. “Not a lot of these being made. A little nucleon has medicinal value, too much is toxic. They told you about the mines on Messatine?”

They’d told Ambulon about the mines, although he’d been more interested in the part about DJD sightings. “Won’t they assign this to Delphi anyway?”

“Eventually. Maybe. When they get around to it. In the meantime, more mechs in my clinic die of raw nucleon poisoning.” Pharma tried to pull it forward, but it didn’t move. He huffed and dropped to his knee joints to examine it. “It’s tied to the wall. Figures. These are sensitive. You can’t have them rolling around.” He stood back up and removed the treasures from Ambulon’s arms, stacking them neatly on the floor. “Okay. You get this untied, and I’ll take a quick look at the rest. Maybe there’s something else around here we could use.”

Ambulon knelt and untied the securing cords. This didn’t feel right. Was Pharma authorized to take these things, or were they stealing? If they were caught, what would be the consequences? More importantly, what would be the consequences for _him_ , a recent Decepticon runaway without a pair of forged hands to back up his reputation?

But Pharma wouldn’t do something so reckless if it were illegal. He was one of the most respected doctors in the entire Autobot faction. Still, Ambulon couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that this was a bad idea.

The suspicion grew when he looked up to see Pharma holding a circular stasis container. “All set?”

Ambulon untangled the last knot. “Yeah.”

“Good,” said Pharma. He shoved a few more energon leads at Ambulon. “You can put some of that stuff on top, but not too much. You’ll have to carry the rest. Can you move that around with one hand? There you go.”

Grunting, Ambulon managed to pick everything back up and push the nucleon filtration machine. It was heavy, in no small part because it had enough instruments on top of it to start a back alley med lab. He jutted his chin at the opaque container in Pharma’s grip. “What’s in there?”

“Mini spark scanners,” said Pharma smoothly. “Fully calibrated and I want them to stay that way.”

That was a steaming load of slag. A stasis container was for preserving the functioning of a living system, and wouldn’t affect the calibration of a spark scanner. Ambulon opened his mouth to say something, and then promptly shut it. He needed this job. He _needed_ things to go well with Doctor Pharma. And if there was one thing he’d learned during these past months of acclimating to Autobot life, it was that keeping your mouth shut went a long way towards having things go well for former ‘Cons.

Yet his jaw creaked and the neurocircuits under his dental plates ached. Keeping his mouth shut wasn’t in his nature.

“We’re not far from the docking bays.” Pharma walked deeper into the chain of storage rooms. “We’ll take all this to Delphi’s transport ship.”

Ambulon pointed to the path behind them. “We came from that direction.”

“And we’re leaving from this one,” said Pharma. “Call it the VIP exit.”

_Away from the security camera that saw us go in_. Dread pooling in his tanks, Ambulon shuffled after Pharma.

 

*****

 

At the back of the last storage room was an emergency fire exit controlled by an old-fashioned digital lock. The kind with the keypad on the inside, meant for urgent escapes. Unlike the main entrance, this one wasn’t accepting Pharma’s code.

“No. No. No.” Pharma hit the keypad again. Nothing happened. The light on top of the control panel remained red.

“Pharma,” said Ambulon slowly, “maybe we should put in a requisition request. Or we could, you know, leave and forget about this.”

“Forget? Leave!? Do you know what’s at stake here?” Pharma advanced on Ambulon, forcing him to take an unsteady step backwards. “Requisition forms don’t save lives.”

The mountain in Ambulon’s arms wavered. “I understand that but-“

“I don’t think you do,” said Pharma sharply. “I, that is, Delphi needs this. Mechs are dying, and you want to run away. But I guess that’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?”

Having his arms full was the only thing that prevented Ambulon from punching the jet in his smug face. “You don’t know the first thing about me-”

Before he could finish, he backed into a shelving unit. A few of the topmost instruments he was holding started to fall. For a moment, Ambulon performed a successful juggling routine, but soon the entire tower collapsed and crashed down on both of them.

The stasis container was knocked out of Pharma’s hands. It slammed to the floor, the cover snapped off, and something rolled out. After a few lazy turns, it stopped against Ambulon’s foot.

Ambulon’s optics nearly shorted out. His mouth dropped open, although a few seconds of tense silence passed before he could say anything. “That’s-“

“None of your concern,” said Pharma. He scooped up the damning object, stuffed it back into the box, and closed the lid.

“A transformation cog?” said Ambulon in a harsh whisper. “Are you crazy!? Taking unauthorized scanners is one thing. But this is organ theft.”

Pharma shrugged. “A victimless crime. It’s not as if they belong to anyone.”

“Victimless. Right.” Ambulon let out a nervous, angry chuff. “The busy conference. The unaccounted med supplies. The second exit. This was the perfect opportunity for you to steal from patients.”

“No,” said Pharma. “This was the perfect opportunity to steal _for_ patients. Do you think I’m gonna sell all this on the black market? I’m helping people. I’m pushing for an advantage to keep Delphi going. Surely you can understand that.”

Ambulon pressed his mouth into a grim line. He _could_ understand, but that didn’t mean he had to be a part of it. “I won’t say anything. But I can’t be involved in this.”

It felt good to walk away. To really assert himself after months of running and bargaining. He had principles, dammit. And they didn’t include stealing body parts for a snobby mech who was determined to look down on him.

But as Ambulon was about to cross into the next room, Pharma’s voice rang out eerily behind him. “You can’t leave now.”

“Watch me,” said Ambulon.

“Oh, did you hear about that defector?” sighed Pharma. “Such a shame. He seemed so promising, and then Doctor Pharma caught him stealing transformation cogs.”

Ambulon halted, his spark tightening. “A camera watched us go in together.”

“And that camera has been having convenient errors at predictable intervals throughout the day. How strange,” said Pharma. “Imagine this: there’s been a mass-casualty incident and you’re performing triage. You’re working on a mech who, despite your best efforts, is sure to die. Maybe you know him. Maybe he’s a friend. Do you waste more time and resources on him, or do you move on to someone who could be saved with medical intervention? What do you do, _Doctor Ambulon_?”

“You can’t get away with this,” grumbled Ambulon.

“I can, and who would doubt me? I’m one of the most important doctors alive. The CMO is a personal friend of mine. The Autobots need me. Who needs you?” All trace of emotion was gone from Pharma’s face and body language. He stood aristocratic. The consummate professional. “Well, it’s triage time. What do you do?” 

Ambulon’s cooling protocols executed a long, shaky ventilation. This wasn’t fair. He’d tried so hard to escape the feeling of being held hostage. And here he was, blackmailed into it all over again. He wanted to scream. Instead he sagged, and dragged himself back towards Pharma.

“I’d hoped you were the pragmatic sort,” said Pharma.

Ambulon knew when he’d left the Decepticons that his options were going to be restricted. He just hadn’t known what forms those restrictions would take. “Let the record show that I’m doing this under duress.”

“Noted,” said Pharma, his voice distant like he hadn’t noted anything. Two cannons transformed from his shoulders. “This one must take a different code. Maybe I can blast it open.”

Ambulon slapped a palm over his forehead. “Real discreet.”

“This is Kimia. There’s been three explosions this week already,” said Pharma. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Lemme see it.” Ambulon examined the lock. It was a familiar model, not so dissimilar from the ones used in certain Decepticon labs. The keypad operated an arrangement of mechanical levers, which in turn controlled the door. It was more than old-fashioned, it was ancient. Pushing aside unpleasant memories, he said, “We need to get to the wires behind this housing.”

He picked up a nearby scalpel and painstakingly removed the cover from the door lock. With the insides exposed, he began to strip and connect different wires. “All these first-rate med supplies, and you protect them with tech from the Simanzi era.”

Pharma hovered over him. “You’re doing that wrong. You should connect the series lengthways. Not that it matters. You can’t hack a digital lock this way.”

Ambulon rewired the circuit, and the small light on top of the control panel turned green.

The door slid open.

“You can when the digital lock controls an easily manipulated mechanical structure,” said Ambulon dryly. “Primus, what do they teach you Autobots?”

For a second, Pharma’s features settled into a pinched exhibit of absolute irritation. But then they crumbled and he proved himself capable of smiling. “Not bad. Maybe you’ll turn out to be useful after all.” He stuck his head into the hallway and looked around. “Okay, no cameras from here to the shuttle.”

Ambulon collected the fallen equipment and reached out blindly to push the overloaded filtration device.

“Let me help you. You did well.” Pharma grabbed a single pneumatic pressure scanner from Ambulon. The smallest one.

“Wow. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” said Pharma. “Remember, confidence is key. If you believe you’re supposed to be doing this, so will everyone else.”

They stepped into the hall, where the formerly pleasant bright lighting now burned like an interrogation. For a while they walked silently, but when they rounded a corner and ambled straight into a group of doctors, Pharma failed to follow his own advice. “Oh,” he said, the exclamation released as a strangled gasp. “H-hi, Ratchet.”

 

*****

 

Ambulon had met CMO Ratchet before, shortly after performing his Act of Affiliation and being granted his credentials as an Autobot doctor. The mech had come off as gruff and impatient at first, but had later bought Ambulon a drink and given him an encouraging talk about his new life. Ambulon liked him, although he was far from happy to see him now.

“So they assigned you to Pharma, huh? Who’d you frag off to get that job?” Ratchet’s optics landed on their haul. “What’s with all this?”

Every sentence, every tiny gesture and motion that Pharma had made up to now had dripped with self-confidence. So it was to Ambulon’s great alarm when Pharma began to stammer. “It’s, um, a few things for Delphi. And, uh, it’s…”

_You arrogant slagger_ , thought Ambulon. _You didn’t count on meeting one of the few people who outranks you._ There were two vastly different punishments on the horizon. For once, he was grateful for his blocky and unremarkable frame. Any windshield wipers or visible moving parts would have given away his rising panic. An itching desperation threatened to burst out of Ambulon’s chest. One of them had to say _something_. At a loss, he blurted out, “And research.”

“Research!” said Pharma. “That too.”

“What kind of research?” asked one of the other doctors.

Grasping at the first answer in his processor, Ambulon said, “On experimental spark resuscitation.”

“Pseudoscience procedures?” groaned Ratchet. “That’s a new one for you, Pharma.”

Ambulon found himself unable to stop talking. “He’s sponsoring First Aid’s jump-starting technique.”

Pharma cast him a stricken look that seemed to say _Ambulon, no._

Ambulon threw him back a furtive glare that he hoped conveyed _Pharma, yes._

Placing the stasis container on top of the filtration machine, Pharma stepped in front of it, blocking it from the others’ view. He then gently shimmied First Aid’s datapad from the middle of Ambulon’s pile. Holding it before Ratchet’s face, he said, “That’s right. It’s the latest in spark resuscitation technology.”

There was a murmur of playful derision amongst the other doctors. Ratchet swatted the datapad away. “Spare me the details. You’ll bring your team to the party later?”

“Of course,” said Pharma.

“Good.” Ratchet patted Pharma on the shoulder vents. “Great presentation earlier by the way.” With that, they all strolled down the hall, engaged in a discussion about fuel pump transplants and the safest sedatives.

Ambulon watched them go, calm on the outside but his knee joints were quivering and his coolant reserves were low. “Are we gonna get away with this?”

“Not completely.” Pharma buried his face in his hands. “My career is never going to live this down.”

“Your _career_?!” Ambulon carefully scrutinized the dejected jet. They could have been charged with organ theft, and Pharma was worried about his career. This was his life now, working for someone who valued reputation as highly as freedom. Someone who was unabashedly willing to break the rules that didn’t apply to him. And they all didn’t apply to him, because Pharma clearly felt he deserved things by virtue of who he was. He didn’t have the slightest inkling of what it was like to feel otherwise.

Working with the mech wasn’t going to be easy.

“Hey,” ventured Ambulon, “at least he liked your speech.”

“Hmm. He did.” Pharma picked up the stasis container again. “As he should have. My conjectures were ingenious. We used to work together, you know. But things have been a little strained between us ever since I surpassed him.” 

“You don’t say?” said Ambulon.

“It’s sad, really.” Pharma began to detail his glorious past with Ratchet as they made their way through the base. When they reached the docking bays, they found First Aid waiting.

“There you are,” said First Aid. “Whoa, what’s all that?”

“I secured funding,” said Pharma.

First Aid gleefully pawed at their spoils. “Is this for filtering nucleon? We need one of these!”

“We sure do.” Pharma waved towards Ambulon. “Why don’t you help our new ward manager? Carry some of that.”

Ambulon sputtered. Ward manager? That was a fast promotion.

First Aid liberated an impressive amount of supplies from Ambulon’s grip. “After we load this, can we go to the party?”

“What’s this party I keep hearing about?” asked Ambulon.

“These things usually deteriorate into a party when Ratchet oversees them,” said Pharma. “Yes, we can go. But we can’t stay too late. The ship leaves first thing tomorrow.”

First Aid fell into step next to Ambulon. “I’ll bet you’re curious to see Delphi.”

Ambulon nodded. “I’m looking forward to getting to work.”

“Excellent,” said Pharma. “You’ll love it. It’s cold, desolate, and frequently forgotten by High Command. But it runs smoothly, and we could always use another team player.”

Ambulon let the implications pass by. It appeared he had gotten into Pharma’s good graces after all, although time would tell how long that would last. For now, he simply walked between the two of them, focusing on the sense of relief that came from being accepted.

 

The End

 


End file.
